Welcome to my site! This is where I will be posting information about new books and where to find existing books.  Occasionally, I will think of something to write about in a blog.

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Recently released books.

You were so quiet tonight, Tuck. I was afraid you were mad at me.”

I wasn’t mad at you, Carrie. I didn’t know if you would like my present.”

You always get me the perfect gift. How could I not love it?”

She looked into his eyes and smiled.

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Tarry.”

He hadn’t called her Tarry since they were little kids.

He turned to leave, and she followed him to the door.

She leaned against it after he left.

He hurried to the elevator because he didn’t want anyone to see him crying.

“Shoot! Why didn’t I tell him to stay?”

She opened the door and sprinted after him, but it was too late.

The elevator door closed.

“Open! Come on open!” She stabbed the button repeatedly.

When it didn’t, she ran back to her room and wept for several minutes.

I hope I didn’t ruin this dress.”

She took it off and hung it back in the closet.

She had just closed the closet door when the phone rang.

She bounded to her desk, yanked her cell phone

from her purse and answered before the second ring.

Oh, Bubby, I’m sorry,” she cried.

Who’s Bubby?” Jeremiah asked.

Someone special,” she answered.

The second book set in Stockton Woods

continues to examine the lives of the

people who call this Midwestern town home,

but with the complications of life in college.

Doug, can you see where you’re going in this rain?”

Barbara Dawson peered through the windshield.

It’s not that bad. I’ve driven this road a million times.

Douglas Dawson patted her hand to reassure her.

Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Barb?

I know you’re disappointed Jim and Sarah couldn’t come.”

I still had a good time,” she answered.

The lightning flashed again.

Followed immediately by a thunderous boom.

Doug’s night vision momentarily vanished.

That was close! I could feel the wheel shake.”

Maybe we should pull over,”

We can’t. There isn’t any shoulder.”

More lightning sizzled through the humid air,

and the thunder clapped simultaneously.

I don’t feel good about this. I’ve never liked this hill.”

We’ll be home soon.”

Once again the lightning exploded.

The thunder reverberated and shook the small car.

That was too close for comfort.” Douglas pointed.

Are those headlights on the…”

Welcome to Stockton Woods. This book introduces us

to the characters who live… and die…

in this small Midwestern town.

I remember my grandfather watching

Westerns on TV as he lay on the couch

in the living room of the farmhouse.

He would never miss an episode of

Gunsmoke, Wagon Train,

or any of his other numerous favorites.

My favorite was The Lone Ranger.

I loved the action compacted into thirty minutes.

I wrote these stories to approximate the

movie serials from the 30s and 40s.

Each of these would end in a cliffhanger with the hero,

or the damsel in distress, in grave peril.

Those of you who are old enough to remember

a more innocent time, sit back, relax and follow me

back to those thrilling days of yesteryear.

The “Emmy’s Story” series begins when Emmy is

four-years-old and quickly progresses to focus

on her teen years and beyond.

In this book, “Christmas Surprise: Emmy’s Story, Part 17,”

Emmy deals with the realities of her children growing up.

“Mom, we have to talk right now and this is serious,”

Heather Rose said as she and her twin sister, Isabella Marie,

trapped their mother in the laundry room.

Emmy Colasanti-Colwell tossed the last of the dirty towels

into the washer and turned around.

“What did your brother do now?”

Heather shook her head. “Kevin Michael didn’t

do anything, but this concerns him, too.

We talked about this, and we’re all in agreement.”

Emmy leaned against the washer and took a deep breath.

“Okay, tell me what’s on your mind.”

We want separate rooms!” Heather and Isabella shouted.

“Mom! Mom! Help!” Heather screamed. “I need you.”

“What’s going on?” Kenny asked.

He threw back the covers and rolled out of bed.

Emmy jumped up. “I think I know. Stay here.

Let me see what’s going on. It might be… uh… you know.”

“What?” he asked running a hand threw his hair.

“Female stuff,” Emmy said while racing out of the room.

“Female stuff,” Kenny said while reaching

back for the edge of the bed.

He missed it and fell to the floor with a thud.

He rubbed the back of his head while muttering,

What female stuff?”




Kenneth Lee McGee is the pen name of Ken McGee. Ken was born in a small town in Southern Illinois in 1952. Both parents taught in the local schools. The family moved to the suburbs of Chicago in the early sixties. McGee enjoyed writing at an early age, but the talent remained dormant and undeveloped for over forty years. He married his high school sweetheart in 1973, worked for a grocery retailer for over thirty years and then retired. He enjoyed sports as a youth and that continued into adulthood. He played basketball in various leagues until he realized he couldn’t compete with the younger players. He found the sport of cycling, joined a local bike club and even joined a racing team. Along the way he and his wife raised a son and daughter.

A few years later, he found his true role. He became a grandfather. Now that he had the time, he resumed writing. He wrote short stories about lost lonely lions, kitty cats who could speak, and puppies who didn’t know their own strength for his granddaughter. Over the years more grandchildren were born. McGee decided to write a story about two kids growing up in the fictional city of South Hampshire. The book turned into the Emmy’s Story series and even the spin-off Annie Mercer O’Dell books. He continues to write under the name Kenneth Lee McGee and credits WriteOn Joliet for teaching him the skills to become a better author. McGee and his wife of forty-five years live in the Plainfield, Illinois, area, are active in their local church and spend many hours indulging their grandchildren.


Yesterday I sat on a bee, and it didn’t sting me.

Yesterday I sat on a bee, and it didn’t sting me.

I wrote this after my mother passed away, and my son read it at her memorial service. I am posting this as my first blog on the new website. Yesterday, shortly before six in the evening, I sat in a ...